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An atheist’s day off

By Mikey May

Content Warning: This work includes mention of gun violence.

I think god might have a problem with boundaries. Lately, he keeps chasing me round Aldi, asking if I know where the vegan ice cream is. I told him I’m not interested, Asked to stop his hauntings and he smiled, “Please don’t call me ghost, my child.”

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Your good god is a bad dad with a lifetime’s child support unpaid. Christ? He doesn’t even know my deadname.

I don’t know what to do with all this god. I’m falling in love all over the shop. My right thigh still aches two weeks after the t-shot. Feels like fainting, like heaven, some Taylor Swift rainstorm, Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu.

Maybe god is a man with white hair and a beer gut. Maybe god is a woman who sings Jack and honey. For now I am leaving the house with my hands up and watching for which way the bullet will come.


Mikey May (he/fae/xe) is a queer trans man poet, linguist, and trainee teacher whose work explores language, sex, trauma, and faith. His self-published zines on faggotry and Taylor Swift can be found at His work is forthcoming in Marías at Sampaguitas, The Open Culture Collective, and Amphora magazine.


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